


the other's pieces

by didthattwinkjustcommittreason



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e09 Lancelot du Lac, F/M, M/M, arthur ignores his feelings, george suffers because of it, slowburn, so does merlin tbh, sorry im new to tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28805028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/didthattwinkjustcommittreason/pseuds/didthattwinkjustcommittreason
Summary: When Merlin tried to reason with him about Gwen, he was pushed away, Arthur’s trust shattered, clearly desiring time to heal alone.Which left Merlin to pick up the pieces of the kingdom’s most recent drama, like always, and fit them together again, even if it wasn’t his fault. And it seemed like the only way he could fix things was by chipping off bits of himself to replace the tidbits that got lost in the fight.Or, the aftermath of Lancelot du Lac. Gwen is banished, Lancelot is dead (again), Arthur and Merlin find comfort in each other (eventually).
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (past), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have had so many ideas for these two and now that i finally made an account on here it feels like i have no idea what i'm doing?? rip
> 
> in any case this is my first time posting something on here ~~and i think i spaced it out poorly? so maybe i'll post it and figure out how to fix it kdsjflkjef sorry~~ okay now i sort of know what i'm doing !

Gwen was not the only one whose life flipped when Lancelot returned. 

Lancelot was Merlin’s closest friend, other than perhaps Arthur (though whether or not they were actually friends was apparently still in question depending on His Majesty’s moods) and seeing him return was a miracle, a sudden weight off his shoulders. He’d never forgiven himself for letting Lancelot slip through the veil for them, but perhaps he could put it behind him now, knowing the knight was alright.

But he couldn’t be fooled by the Shade; it wasn’t just the oddity of his story or even the fact that he forgot Merlin’s magic. His very presence felt wrong, disjointed, as though Morgana’s spell, while raising his body perfectly, had sloppily stitched together a bare semblance of the knight himself. Arthur’s rage had blinded him to the absurdity of it all - Lancelot would never have come between the king and Gwen, even if his love for her were all that mattered to him in the world.

Merlin should know - Lancelot was the only friend he could be open around. They were honest with each other; he could tell Lancelot of his magical escapades saving his king, and he could get the knight to wryly admit his persisting feelings for Gwen. But Lancelot, who could see through Arthur’s emotional constipation, had put his feelings to the side for a while now.

Perhaps Arthur had considered this, the night Gwen and Lancelot sat in their cells at opposite ends of the dungeon. Maybe he had thought back on all the knight had done for him. In any case, he had drawn his own conclusions; Merlin had not approached him to mention Morgana, disheartened by Gaius’s comments. The two had been distant as Arthur focused on his proposal to Gwen, and the king was the sort to reject any comfort. When Merlin tried to reason with him about Gwen, he was pushed away, Arthur’s trust shattered, clearly desiring time to heal alone.

Which left Merlin to pick up the pieces of the kingdom’s most recent drama, like always, and fit them together again, even if it wasn’t his fault. And it seemed like the only way he could fix things was by chipping off bits of himself to replace the tidbits that got lost in the fight.

Sending off Lancelot was not supposed to hurt. He had done his mourning long ago. But what should have been a faint scar was suddenly a gaping wound when he managed to release his friend from Morgana’s clutches. A simple thank you was enough to destroy Merlin these days, and Lancelot’s crumbled something inside of him. He set fire to the boat as he turned away, feeling more empty and exposed than he had in months.

Returning to the castle felt like Ealdor did after a raid, or after particularly destructive weather - after all, there was just as often a calm _after_ the storm as there was before. The usual bustle of the castle felt subdued, less chatter and more whispering, heads down instead of the usual greetings echoing down the halls. It felt like a funeral, Camelot mourning its queen-to-be, and Merlin - well, he had literally just come from a funeral. He would be the only one to mourn Lancelot this time. The thought irked him greatly.

There was plenty to be done - he _should_ have been helping out with last minute preparations for Arthur’s wedding; now all those preparations of the week needed undone. But to do that, he’d have to speak to Arthur to find out where precisely he was needed, and that certainly sounded like a shit idea. He settled for returning to Gauis to offer his help to the physician for the rest of the day. He was sort of surprised Arthur never sent for him, but then, he’d probably think it’d show weakness to - gods forbid Arthur admit he _needed_ Merlin for _anything_ \- so Merlin thought little of it.

Entering the king’s room the next day, he didn’t even try to be cheery, opening the curtains solemnly only to find the bed empty.

“Arthur!” he blurted in a panic, spinning around to scour the rest of the chambers. He spotted the king sitting still at his table in the dark and jumped. “Gods,” he huffed out, walking over before bothering to properly tie back the curtains. The light in the room flickered a bit as they stole back a bit of the sun. “You scared me.” He must’ve passed right by him when he entered. “What are you doing up?”

He’d asked it without thinking. Why else would Arthur be up? The king looked up at him with tired eyes and lied through his teeth. “Wasn’t tired.” Not even _I couldn’t sleep_. Arthur Pendragon would admit nothing.

Merlin nodded briskly at him, setting down a list he’d had tucked in his pocket, then returned to fix the curtains, straighten the bed. “You have several council me-”

“I remember,” Arthur snapped, waving him off. “I’m the king, Merlin.”

He _hadn’t remembered_ , because today was supposed to be his wedding, and the day had been cleared. There was plenty that needed done, however, and Merlin had filled his schedule to distract him. Arthur just wanted to yell. Anger, evidently, was the only acceptable emotion. Arthur was unbearable when he was like this, and Merlin knew better than to provoke him. Only - maybe Arthur needed this. At the very least, it’d be better for his poor council members if he blew off some steam now. Merlin decided to indulge him.

“Well, I figured I’d remind you. You’re not always the most competent.”

The warlock could almost hear the vein bulging out on the king’s neck. “Competent?!” he cried in outrage. “Merlin, what are _you_ talking about? You’re the most incompetent person I’ve ever met! Where is my breakfast?” he said to prove his point, waving at the empty table before him.

Merlin hadn’t bothered with breakfast. He had figured the king would have no appetite. But he couldn’t say that. “Just looking out for your belts, sire.”

He had expected a flying goblet, but of course, Merlin _had not brought the king’s breakfast_ , so there was nothing to throw. The sound of a chair scooting across the floor startled Merlin from where he was rummaging through the king’s wardrobe, and he swallowed a squeak when he saw Arthur heading towards him with a murderous expression.

“Come here, Merlin, so I can tie those big ears of yours into a bow!”

The warlock pulled the door of the wardrobe in front of himself as a pitiful shield. “I don’t really think a bow would suit me-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur grunted through clenched teeth as he pried the wood out of his manservant’s hands. Just as he got a grip of Merlin’s tunic a knock sounded at his door. Merlin stopped trying to wriggle away and Arthur stopped dragging him closer as they both glanced at the interruption. Arthur sighed and pushed Merlin towards the door, with enough force to make him stumble but not rough enough to be anything but _horseplay_.

When Merlin failed to offer any greeting, Arthur knew it must be his uncle. For whatever reason, Merlin hated Agravaine, probably because their advice was always at odds. He seemed to think that Arthur relied too much on his uncle, but Agravaine was the only family Arthur had left. And anyway, Arthur was still making his own decisions. He had never considered _killing_ Gwen, despite his uncle’s dark suggestions, and he had ignored all his suggestions regarding Merlin (some subtle but most borderline spiteful.)

“My lord,” Agravaine started, and Merlin caught Arthur’s eye before ducking his head in a most irritated fashion and heading out. Arthur felt his own irritation growing. He hadn’t dismissed him. Which. . . he almost never did, and Merlin wouldn’t have listened to him anyways, and Agravaine usually requested he leave - but the fact that he just decided to leave on his own felt like a desertion.

“I am having the servants remove all the. . .preparations. It’s in progress as we speak.”

“Good,” Arthur said, nodding stiffly, walking to his desk so that he didn’t have to look at the man.

Agravaine waited a beat before going on, “I heard you yelling before I came in. Are you sure everything is alright?”

Breathing slowly through his nose, Arthur composed himself. “I’m not having this conversation again, uncle.”

“I’m not certain having your blood pressure rise as soon as you wake up is good for you.”

Arthur was about to launch into a discussion about how his dynamic with Merlin had started long before Agravaine had even showed his face in Camelot, how could he _possibly_ know whether or not Merlin was good for him, when he realized that one, he would be overreacting, and two, Merlin being good for him was an idea that was not supposed to make it past his subconscious, let alone out his mouth. Instead, he said, “Is there anything else you needed?”

There was a beat during which Arthur suspected his uncle was deciding whether or not to provoke him further. Then, “No, my lord.”

Arthur waved him off. The list Merlin had set down for him was painstakingly lengthy. The king barely registered the door shutting behind his uncle as he remembered that he shouldn’t have anything to do, since he _should have_ been marrying his queen in a few hours. Now there wasn’t even any time to think about a wedding.

Oh.

Stuffing the list in his pocket, he set to work gathering any papers he’d need for his first meeting. Usually Merlin would carry his things - it felt unseemly for the king to stride around with laden arms - but he still hadn’t returned, not only leaving Arthur with full hands, but to walk into the meeting alone.

He wasn’t even _there_ waiting for him, and for a beat Arthur wanted to tell his council that they had to wait - if he had to sit through this so did Merlin! - but then he realized how ridiculous it would sound to postpone just so his manservant could stand off to the side and make faces at him.

After sitting through two meetings, he had lunch, then training with his knights. Much to his chagrin, he found George waiting for him with a steaming platter.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded as George bowed before him.

The man rose with a chink in his usually schooled expression and Arthur huffed through his nose. It wasn’t George’s fault that Merlin couldn’t be bothered to grace _his king_ with his presence. “I mean, where is my clumsy oaf of a manservant?”

“I believe he is with Gaius in the lower town, sire,” George replied carefully.

“I didn’t tell him he could go to the lower town!” Arthur exclaimed in exasperation before realizing he sounded like a petulant child. “It would be nice,” he amended in a calmer tone, “if Merlin would _tell_ me where he was going once in a while.”

George took his outburst in stride, nodding and pulling out Arthur’s chair for him, which annoyed him much more than it should have. But didn’t George think he was _capable_ of pulling out his own seat? He wasn’t some dainty lady of the court!

He brushed the man aside and pulled out the chair himself (which made it farther from the table than Arthur preferred, because of course George had gotten the distance perfect, damn him) and sat down. He had to lean in an unkingly manner to eat, but George said nothing, just stood there watching and waiting. Although he’d skipped breakfast, Arthur still wasn’t all that hungry. He got through a bit of a chicken leg when he set it down, deciding he couldn’t do this with George’s eyes on him. “You’re dismissed.”

George opened his mouth and closed it again, stuck between following orders and some other sense of duty that was clearly on his mind. “What is it?” he asked, tired.

“I still need to dress you for training,” George said. “Do you want me to give you ten minutes before I return? Fifteen? I can wait outside the door and you can knock-”

Heaving a sigh, Arthur stood from his table. “Let’s just do it now.”

George put on his armor, George led him to the training grounds, George carried his sword and his shield, George stood on the sidelines waiting for him. The knights were subdued, and every time Arthur caught a glimpse of Elyan he felt guilty. When Gwaine and Percival had to face him they suffered all the frustrations of Arthur’s day, and he _still_ felt angry by the time training was over. He snapped at George without meaning to while he was removing his sweaty armor, and before the man could remind him of his next four (for the Triple Goddess’s sake, Merlin, _four_ council meetings in a row?!) council meetings, he was out the door and headed to the physician’s tower.

“MERLIN!” he bellowed, because it felt good to yell. He found Gaius working on one of his nasty potions, but his manservant was nowhere in sight. “Where is he?!” Arthur demanded. “Gods help me if you say he’s in the tavern-”

“Gathering herbs, sire,” Gaius said, a perfectly rehearsed line, one Arthur’d heard hundreds of times. It didn’t matter if Gaius was telling the truth, it only served to bother him further.

“Where?”

Gaius looked up, but before he could receive the brow, the physician’s attention landed on something behind Arthur. The king spun, ready to chew out Merlin, but it was only George, red faced.

“What is it?” he said again, trying to stamp the growl out of his voice.

“The meeting’s about to start,” he was trying not to breathe heavily, “would you like me to-”

Arthur strode past him. “Send Merlin my way when you see him, Gaius!” he called behind him, heading to his council chambers in a stormy mood.

No matter Merlin’s intentions, four more meetings had him even more pissed as he returned to his chambers. He waved George away as soon he was out of the council door, and even Agravaine stayed out of his way when he left the last meeting looking ready to explode.

When Merlin was not waiting for him in his chambers (like Merlin would sit around waiting for him) he about pulled his hair out. He spun around, ready to march back to Gaius and _demand_ that Merlin make an appearance when his door opened without forewarning and Merlin himself tumbled in, looking a bit disheveled.

“George said you were looking for me,” he panted, “he sounded worried and I never hear the man sound distressed, are you-?” He looked up to find Arthur glaring at him and his concern dripped away as the king turned and threw his hands up in the air.

“Where have you _been?!_ ” he cried. “You left me with _George_ ! That’s low, _Mer_ lin, even for an inconsiderate idiot such as yourself-”

“You know,” Merlin huffed, hands on his knees, “I was actually _worried_ , I wouldn’t have run over here if I knew you were just going to yell at me-”

“You’ve been avoiding me!” Arthur accused, crossing his arms.

Merlin straightened. “I’ve been helping Gaius!” he said incredulously.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been doing,” Arthur snapped, pulling out the list he’d handed the king this morning and tossing it at him. The paper slipped lazily through the air and landed near his feet. “Six meetings! And you didn’t even bother to come to any of them!”

Before Merlin could point out that he really had no business at the meetings anyways, Arthur barreled on, “You’re still mad about me sending away Gwen. Well guess what, _Mer_ lin. I’m not happy either! I was going to MARRY HER!”

“I never know what you want!” Merlin shouted back, waving his hands in angry, incoherent motions. “I thought you’d want some space, and now you just want to act like everything’s normal. It’s not _normal_ to act like you’re okay with this! You clearly aren’t!”

They shouldn’t have been yelling back and forth like this. The guards outside were no doubt listening in, every servant walking past as slow as they could, with their luck Agravaine eavesdropping. Arthur didn’t seem to care.

“I don’t like what’s happened,” he snapped, “but I’m getting past it! What do you want me to do? Break down and sob and mope like a girl? Like you would, Merlin? Like you have been, by avoiding me?” Arthur scoffed at him. “Don’t tell me you’re just doing this for me.”

“Well maybe I’m not!” Merlin cried. When he pointed at Arthur, he meant to be just as angry and accusatory, and was surprised to find his voice betraying him as it wavered. “You made me bury Lancelot _alone_ , Arthur. _Lancelot_.”

Arthur faltered a bit; whether it was because of the subject change or Merlin’s sudden teary eyes was uncertain. The king faced away from him again.

“Forgive me for not wanting to attend,” he said bitterly.

Injustice boiled beneath Merlin’s skin. “He was a shade!” the warlock exploded before he could stop himself. “He would never come between you and Gwen, you dollophead!” He sighed, knowing he probably should have just let well enough alone, but now he might as well clarify. “Morgana rose him from the dead.”

Arthur spun to look at him. “What?”

“Lancelot wouldn’t betray you, Arthur,” he went on quietly, “and I’d bet Morgana also played a role influencing Gwen-”

“Stop,” Arthur said, holding up a hand. “Don’t.”

Frustrated, Merlin insisted, “Gwen wouldn’t-”

“You’d do well to stay out of my business with Guinevere,” Arthur snapped. “It doesn’t concern you.” He was well pissed, because he added, “And why are you crying over a- a shade, anyways?”

Merlin stopped. He couldn’t explain how he’d released his friend, how he had to watch the man himself die again. It wouldn’t make sense without revealing his magic. “It still hurt.” He whispered it because he knew otherwise his voice would crack.

“You’re dismissed.” Arthur refused to look at him.

“Yes, _sire_ ,” Merlin spat out the word, voice strangled, eyes dripping. He slammed the door on his way out, and the echoing noise almost masked the sound of a vase shattering within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for persisting through that lol
> 
> i usually don't switch povs so suddenly/subtly like that,,, is it annoying? i guess it's pretty close to omniscient at this point
> 
> kind of worried about future chapters because i like?? i always feel weird about the idea of them getting together before a magic reveal, but writing one of those would be very draining, and i am stumbling into this whole storyline rather blindly so. send help.
> 
> if you see any mistakes, let me know, thank you !


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur being mad at each other, featuring suffering George and prick Agravaine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, i did not abandon this, i am simply slow and have the tendency spend most of what little free time i have reading other people's fics instead of working on my own

When Merlin asked George if he could serve the king again today, the man could hardly say no.

The king’s manservant seemed rather upset, for one, and George had his reliable reputation to uphold. But he had learned the hard way that coming between the two of them only tended to make things worse (yesterday was his latest reminder.)

So even though George would always be honored to serve the king, he was also absolutely dreading it. Not that you could ever elicit such an admission from him. He would never say something like that. It was just how he felt; palms unusually sweaty; a light buzz of fight-or-flight pulsing through his limbs; an extra level of concentration to maintain his normally natural posture and expression. Things he couldn’t control.

When His Majesty the King of Camelot opened his eyes, George had intended to offer him breakfast first, then update him on today’s duties, the weather, Agravaine’s desire to meet with him, what he could look forward to for lunch. As soon as the servant registered in his vision, however, the king moved faster than George had ever seen this early in the morning.

“No,” he said simply, throwing the covers off. “I’m not doing this.”

Which really was quite disheartening. Nevertheless, George knew not to take it personally. 

“Sire!” he interjected, wincing as he raised his voice. But King Arthur was walking straight for the door. “You’re still in your nightclothes!”

“I am aware, thank you, George,” the man said, not bothering to mask his irritation, nor slowing in the slightest.

George scurried after him as he barreled into the hall. It was early enough that only servants and the rare noble (not a single knight, who all seemed to make the most of their sleeping time) were in the hall, and everyone was still somber. Despite the severity of Guinivere’s banishment, George knew it would not belong before, at least for the servants, everything would be back to normal.

Except perhaps himself and Merlin, at this rate.

He followed the king all the way to the physician’s tower, where he barged right in without knocking. As expected, they found only Gaius, who looked offended at their rude entrance. 

“Now, don’t lie to me, Gaius.”

The man remained unfazed, returning to his work. He appeared to be mashing some sort of paste with the mortar and pestle. “I don’t know where he is, sire. He woke up a bit earlier, but didn’t indicate he had plans out of the ordinary.” He shrugged without looking up from or stalling his gentle grinding movements. “I assumed he was with you.”

“Well, he isn’t,” Arthur snapped, motioning to George, who straightened and bit back a sudden feeling of irritation. This was, for the hundredth time, _not_ his fault.

This time, the physician did look up, settling him with a look. “If I see him sire, I’ll send him to you.”

“Thank you,” the king said, somewhat begrudgingly. He spun on his heels and George trailed behind him.

As they returned to the king’s chambers, both were silent. The man was still stewing over the morning’s events when they turned the corner and caught sight of the manservant responsible for his mood.

A part of George was guiltily relieved; another part thought, _Run, Merlin, you git_.

He evidently was not there on purpose, because he looked up and made brief eye contact with the king before turning tail to follow George’s unspoken advice. Unfortunately for him, the king needed but three quick strides and a grip on his neckerchief, and he was caught. The manservant made an involuntary noise as he was dragged into the king’s chambers by the red scrap of cloth, and the door slammed shut behind them.

George released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Were it anyone else, he would stand outside and wait. But he knew from experience that they had both already forgotten him completely.

As he continued down the hall to make himself useful elsewhere, he sent a small prayer for Merlin before choosing to forget the idiots — erm, the King of Camelot and his somewhat inadequate manservant — in return.




He hadn’t _meant_ to snag Merlin’s neckerchief, but he couldn’t say he was displeased with the results. Merlin was flushed and caught off guard and _here_ , finally, trapped in Arthur’s grip, and he wasn’t going to slip away this time.

“Where have you been?” Arthur demanded at the same time as Merlin grumbled, “What do you want?”

A second passed as they eyed each other warily, and Arthur tugged on the red still in his hands. “You answer _me_ , _Mer_ lin,” he said, ignoring the way his manservant’s dark hair fluttered with the motion. “I’m the king, remember?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but Arthur didn’t miss him swallowing. “How could I forget?” Something in his voice was abnormal and Arthur decided perhaps it was best he let go. He flicked the neckerchief into his manservant’s face, and Merlin took the abuse with his normal aura of irritation.

“I was helping with the laundry.” He carefully brushed over the fact that this was a hole Gwen had left with her banishment. Well. It wasn’t like she’d have been doing laundry if she’d become queen, anyways. “It’s not like I sit around doing nothing!”

“We talked about this yesterday,” Arthur growled. “You have _one_ job-”

“That’s not true.”

“-to be _my_ manservant,” Arthur overruled the point. “The least you could do is show up.”

“Oh, what difference does it make?!” Merlin snapped, daring him to admit it, to say it out loud, but he knew better, bless the Triple Goddess, and barreled on without an answer. “I’ve said it before, Arthur. I’m glad to serve you ’til the day I die-”

“Then why-”

Merlin spoke over him, unwilling to let even the king interrupt him, “but you just don’t want my service. Because it’s more than that,” he added, voice starting to rise. “I’m not here to scurry around with my head down. I’m your _friend_ , Arthur, and you’re being an ass.”

“Merlin,” he warned.

“I’m always here for you, but you turn me away. Constantly,” he snapped. “I just want to help you, and you refuse, only to go on sulking and making everyone else miserable-”

“Aren’t you one to talk?” Arthur smiled coldly at him. “Were you just not going to mention that Lancelot was under some spell? Or did you plan to suffer with that knowledge alone?” Merlin’s eyes dropped at the mention of Lancelot, mouth twisting unhappily. “How did you figure that out, anyways?”

“Because I know him!” Merlin burst out, then, “I - I _knew_ him.” He took a breath. “I know it’s hard for you, but if you would just stop and _think_ for a _second_ -”

“This better not be about Guinivere,” Arthur interjected tightly. “If you utter one more thing on the subject, I’ll banish you.”

Merlin blinked back at him. Since he became king, Merlin’d been in the stocks once, maybe twice, mostly as a joke; he’d threatened it often and even the dungeons a few times, but he’d never really been serious about that. Usually he won arguments by forcing him to muck out the stables. This was the first time he’d threatened banishment, and he was dead serious.

Hurt flickered through Merlin’s eyes before his steely gaze landed on the floor. He stalked past Arthur to the wardrobe, and the king suddenly remembered he wasn’t dressed yet. He was going to be late to training, which was first on today’s schedule.

Refusing to spare a glance for the outfit George had clearly picked out, Merlin selected something else before slamming the wardrobe shut a little harder than necessary. Neither of them spoke as Arthur dressed. The worst wasn’t that Merlin was pissed; he was also clearly upset. He fitted Arthur’s armor with such efficiency that it occurred to the king just how much Merlin _chose_ to touch him: lazing through slowly each day not because he was inept, but because he was companionable, stretching out their conversations and pacing Arthur’s morning. He desperately pushed these thoughts away; they were making him feel guilty.

He discovered as Merlin followed behind him that despite the tension still between them, he was relieved to have Merlin at his side today. Not that he’d admit it. Just a flimsy, wandering observation to consider. 

It became clear as Merlin was removing his armor before they headed for the first meeting of the day that his manservant intended to treat him to silence, something Arthur always claimed to want but could never seem to enjoy. He had barely even spoken to Gwaine, who made sure to bother Merlin rain or shine. Fine. Let him be quiet for once. Arthur refused to break first.

The meetings were dreadful. He kept trying to catch Merlin’s eye, but he refused to look at the king, making careful inspection of the ceiling, the floor, the wall, even Geoffrey’s beard (at least it seemed). He grew increasingly frustrated when his lunch was as perfect as if George had served him, and there was nothing to complain about. Merlin buzzed around the room, busying himself with stuff he was supposed to do but seldom did, rather than lingering by the table to pester Arthur. The king gritted his teeth and ate everything to try and staunch his anger, but left a roll untouched on the tray beside his stew. His manservant was known to snag bits of his leftovers.

But when Merlin went to pick up the tray, he idly tossed the bread into the dregs of the stew, where it soaked and disintegrated. Arthur couldn’t _say_ he was offended, so he just leaned back and watched coolly as Merlin cleared up his place.




When he finally spoke, Merlin didn’t lift his eyes from where they were trained on Arthur’s lunch. It was the first meal he’d finished since. . .well, and if he weren’t so pissed for other events, he would have been pleased.

“Agravaine’s been wanting to speak with you,” the warlock said without a trace of his usual bitterness. He’d already made it plenty clear to Arthur his feelings of Agravaine, and the king clearly didn’t give a damn. In what world would he take his manservant’s opinion over his uncle’s, anyways? He’d already told Merlin to shove all his other opinions up his ass on multiple occasions. Merlin just had to accept that intercepting Agravaine’s treacherous behavior was one more line on his list of responsibilities. “He’ll likely take you aside after your meetings end.”

It exhausted him to think what the man wished to speak about. Bullying Arthur into thinking he wasn’t kingly enough again? Ensuring him that some bit of pointless cruelty was for the good of the kingdom or necessary to show strength? Or maybe this time he would just go for it and set into action a plot that could actually pose serious danger to Arthur or Camelot. He resisted the urge to scrub at his eyes, which had gotten heavier with his musings, and gathered the tray so he could leave.

“Merlin,” he’d heard his name through gritted teeth enough times to recognize the occasion, “Don’t think you’ll be slipping away. You’ll be at all the meetings.”

“Of course, sire,” he replied dryly.

He had been wrong. That, or Arthur managed to leave swiftly enough that Agravaine didn’t catch him. Whatever the case, it was hours later when Arthur was eating dinner and he was readying the chambers for the night and the man still hadn’t come knocking. 

Merlin remained quiet and intent on his job, slipping in and out of Arthur’s view. The chambers were dead silent except for the crackling fire he’d lit perhaps a candlemark ago, and it was just enough noise to mask any Arthur made. They remained invisible to each other. Not like Merlin was hyper aware of his king, by intuition, magic, whatever - well, if so, it was _only_ because the second he dropped his attention something awful would happen.

In this case, that something awful was merely that the knocking was delayed. Merlin frowned from where he was kneeling as he folded or hung laundry in the wardrobe, thighs braced against his heels. He made to rise, but before he could get to the door, Arthur let out a tired, “Enter.”

Merlin froze, settling back down. Had Arthur actually forgotten he was here?

As he was deciding whether to be offended or hurt, Agravaine entered and did a brief sweep of the room, failing to spot Merlin, then turned to Arthur. “My lord,” he began, pausing in front of the table. The warlock heard the scraping of Arthur’s movements rather than seeing them - the dish against the table as he pushed the half-finished dinner away, the wooden chair against the stone as he stood. “Uncle. I heard you were coming to speak with me.”

“Are we alone, Arthur?” he asked, glancing at the door. Merlin got to his feet and soundlessly appeared in the right line of vision just in time to meet the king’s eyes as he replied, “Yes.”

Merlin blinked in confusion as Agravaine turned back around and Arthur averted his eyes, shaking his left hand in a dismissive motion that might be mistaken for an absentminded attempt to readjust the cuff of his shirt. But the door was on his right. Merlin remained motionless for a moment before deciphering this as a sign to continue putting away the clothes. But why would he want Merlin here? Every other time his uncle requested privacy, he sent his manservant away.

The warlock realized his lips had parted slightly in confusion when he registered how dry his mouth had become. He pressed them into a thin line as he crept back towards his work, feeling more on edge than other times he’d hidden from Agravaine. Which was strange; those stakes were always higher, risking discovery of his magic and the downfall of Camelot, but at least then he knew what was at risk, what he was trying to achieve. He thought he could read Arthur pretty well by now, but in trying to guess his motives in this case, Merlin was drawing a complete blank.

Could it be possible he wanted Merlin to hear this conversation? Or was he overthinking things again - perhaps Arthur was just being a prat and determined that Merlin would finish his duties for once. A sort of payback for slacking off recently.

“What is it?” Arthur’s tired tone had returned. 

“Everything concerning. . . the serving girl,” Agravaine began carefully, “has been undone.” He stepped around the subject with a precision Merlin had failed to. Was royal blood and political grace all he would have needed to gain Arthur’s trust?

The bitterness returned full force, even as Merlin swallowed it down, along with the angry pulse of magic in his blood. Merlin had clawed his way past social class, tradition, misled morals and personal insecurities driven into Arthur by both his father and the high expectations of all who saw nothing but the heir to Camelot’s throne when they looked at him. He had literally crawled and pleaded and risked his skin over and over again, tagging along on suicide missions and remaining adamantly at his side until at last Arthur would begrudgingly confide in him, maybe even consider his opinion, though he’d seldom admit it. Agravaine had suspiciously dropped in out of nowhere immediately after Arthur ascended to the throne, mentioned Arthur’s mother, and suddenly had Arthur’s utmost, unconditional trust above all others.

And maybe it was utterly stupid to think Arthur would actually value his advice, let alone in comparison to his uncle’s, (and the bit about his mother really was unfair), but gods, it _stung_ with how easily the king dismissed him. Yes, he was still just a manservant, but he thought after many years they were friends beneath it all. Clearly, he was mistaken; Arthur thought him dispensable, easily banished, _thrown away_ —

Merlin grit his teeth and focused on how the king replied, even as his throat was swelling. He didn’t want to be _upset_ , he wanted to be _angry_ ; he should be right pissed at the prat, not hurt by his enduring lack of emotional capacity.

“Good. Is that all?”

Agravaine seemed to hesitate. “If you would forgive me, my lord.”

Merlin had to keep pausing in his work for the absolute silence. Well, not really; the crackling of the fire would certainly cover the soft hush of fabric, and he could hang articles during their speech, but the soundless tension in the room felt so fragile that the warlock found himself stopping and holding his breath anyways.

“I think only of you, Arthur.” With footsteps, Merlin imagined him pacing closer, the manipulative villain ever guised as a mentor. “I want you to be surrounded by those you can rely upon. You are young, optimistic, trusting.”

Merlin ground his teeth as Arthur said bitterly, “You think me a fool.”

“No,” Agravaine assured him, “no no. We all make mistakes, putting faith in those we should not.” Merlin wanted to laugh at the irony. “You must remember, Arthur,” Agravaine went on, “that these people under your station can never understand you. They cannot comprehend the weight on your shoulders.”

_No_ , Merlin mouthed without thinking, then thanked the gods he hadn’t actually spoken out loud. First his father, then his court, now Agravaine, all telling him he had to be alone. Was it not cruel enough for Arthur to have all this responsibility so young? Did they all have to insist upon solitude?

The king was quiet; he was actually listening to Agravaine, for the Triple Goddess’s sake. Gwen’s betrayal, however Merlin felt about it, had broken some part of Arthur, and Merlin realized quickly that if he didn’t change his method of fixing his friend, then Agravaine would put him back together instead. The warlock failed to notice his hands shaking with fury where they were clasped around a long forgotten shirt. How dare Agravaine take advantage of him. The warlock felt powerless. What could he do when this man, Arthur’s only remaining family, was not only his most trusted advisor, but the person he _wanted_ to trust the most?

“Get to the point, Uncle,” the king said wearily.

“Your serving boy,” the man replied, and Merlin startled, thinking for a second he had been spotted before understanding he was just the next topic of conversation. “You are too friendly with him, Arthur.”

“Uncle.” Arthur sounded mildly irritated.

The shirt at last slipped from Merlin’s hands. He was not surprised that Agravaine would speak against him, but suddenly he thought back to the eye contact before, Arthur wordlessly telling him to stay. This was it, wasn’t it? He wanted Merlin to hear how easy it’d be to get rid of him. How lucky he was that he hadn’t already been sent packing.

“He is just like the girl,” Agravaine went on stubbornly. The warlock set his jaw at the words _the girl_ , seeing Gwen, tearstained, stumbling through the rainy streets as she left Camelot. “You can’t trust him. What do you think he wants from you, Arthur?”

“That’s enough, Agravaine.”

No further words were said. After a long stretch, Agravaine strode calmly to the door and left, shutting it behind him. They could hear his footsteps echo down the hallway as he retreated.

The warlock knew Arthur could be an ass, but this - this thinly veiled threat? This making a point? Attempt to win their argument? Whatever he had intended, it had been a low blow. Maybe he would’ve expected this behavior from the Crowned Prince, but not the King.

His knees cracked as he stood, but he didn’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears. A small part of him said to just walk out, to continue the silent game he’d been playing and ignore him. But with his rage rekindled, he was finally more angry than he was upset, and Merlin’d be damned if he passed up this opportunity, to hell with the consequences.

He came into Arthur’s view, only to see his back still turned away. A chance to leave. Instead he stopped where he was, leaving the distance between them, but clearly not going anywhere.

“What the fuck,” he gritted out, “was that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure if i'm a fan with how this turned out, but thanks for reading and thank you for your patience !


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